


One More Time

by samwysesr



Category: Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: F/M, Rose Writes, Song fic, requested item
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested item—One Shot Song Fic: Adrian Rated 'M' for strong language. When a slightly drunk Adrian accepted a harmless little bet—he never imagined what the consequences of his song might be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time

 

 

 
    
    
    One More Time
    Requested item: Song fic—Adrian
    W/C: 3,417
    Unedited || Unproofed  
      
    

It happened on a Tuesday night… or maybe it was a Thursday—hell, he’d been so drunk by the end of the evening he  was lucky he could remember the day started with a ‘T’. He’d been minding his own business, knocking back a few—dozen—drinks with some ass kissing Royals who were picking up his tab in hopes he might put in a good word for them with the queen. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d consumed around number thirteen—but even then his mind was still prickling; it was a warning sign that an attack was building—the same went for the faint twitching of his hand. He could almost _feel_   Spirit gathering around him like a storm cloud, smashing against the barriers he’d constructed to keep the element at bay. Far too soon, it would breach the wall, burrowing its way into his mind and frying his synapses with every second that passed.

He was contemplating asking the Moroi who’d been plying him with drinks if either of them knew where he could score something stronger than alcohol when the man to his left groaned dramatically, pulling him out of his daze. “What?”

“Maybe we should move this party somewhere else—It looks like they’re about to start Karaoke and I don’t think my head can handle it.”

Tossing back the remnants of his drink, he turned his eyes toward the far end of the bar, watching with bored indifference as  two non-Royals  set up a microphone and speakers. “No way—I’m not moving. This place has the strongest drinks at Court,” he pushed his empty glass towards the woman tending bar, winking at her and smiling, “and the sexiest bartender.”

His companion—he thought the man was a Conta, but then again he could be a Badica… no…that the dude on his other side… maybe—rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Great. A bunch of drunks singing off key renditions of the classics. Talk about a buzz kill.”

Badica leaned forward, almost spilling the fresh round of drinks that the ever efficient barkeep had lined up in front of them—his speech so slurred it was hard to understand him. “ A hundred bucks says you don’t have the balls to get up there yourself, Simon.”

“Make it interesting at least,” Conta scoffed, sneering at the offer. “A hundred dollars isn’t worth my time.”

“Fine—I’ll pick up your bar tab for a week.”

Adrian pulled his glass towards him, smirking. “I’ll take that bet if he doesn’t—though I seriously doubt you could afford _my_   bar tab for a week.”

“I’ll help him cover it if need be—and I’ll even up it. You sing and we cover the cost of your drinking and cigarettes for the next seven days—but _we_ get to pick the song.” Come on Tomas—let’s go see what they’ve got.”

“No Edison Lighthouse!” He winced, calling after them, recalling an extremely embarrassing incident the week before involving a particular song he’d played on repeat for five hours straight—at a deafening volume. The Moroi in the apartment next to his had ended up banging his door down threatening to shove his speakers into an orifice that was best unmentioned.  Downing his drink, he deftly switched his empty glass with Badica’s full one, mentally testing himself by trying to see the aura of the dhampir behind the bar; unfortunately the flickering waves of color came in all too clear—an indication that he needed to drink more… and fast. Lately he’d noticed that it was getting harder and harder to drown out his element with whiskey—he had to drink almost twice as much as before to dull out the vibrant play of colors even just a little.   

“Maybe I should switch to tequila—change things up. Have you got any Patron back there?” He watched the woman scoop a bottle off the shelf behind her, admiring her long pour for a moment before waving his hand to let her know she needn’t bother with the lime she was reaching for.

“There’s two ahead of you—here’s your lyrics.” Conta slapped a piece of paper down in front of him, climbing back on his stool.

Adrian glanced down at the sheet—then did an immediate double take, grimacing. “No.”

“You said we could pick—backing out already?” Badica looked at the empty glass that had been full a few moments before, frowning. “Hell, I might need to slow down—I don’t even remember drinking that one.”

“Adrian Ivashkov does _not_   do hair metal bands. I have a reputation to uphold for Christ’s sake.” He ignored the comment about the drink, his glare flicking between the two men who seemed intent on humiliating him.

“It’s that or Celine Dion—your choice. Personally, I think White Lion is the lesser of two evils, but it’s up to you.”

He stared at the man for a moment, then picked up the sheet, his eyes scanning the lyrics. The words made him wince—hitting entirely to close to what he was currently going through. “You’re an asshole.”

“Come on—identifying with the song will improve your performance, right?”

“Whatever—you’re still a sadistic son of a bitch.” Waving his hand to summon the bartender, he pointed to his glass. “I’m going to need two more of these—and make ‘em doubles.”

The drinks gave him some much needed liquid courage, enabling him to make his way up to the stage with a swagger—though the announcer had to repeat it twice before it actually broke through his alcohol induced haze that it was his turn. He didn’t look around as he took his place—nor did he bother with making a dedication; anyone  who knew what had happened—which was pretty much every single fucking person in the entire Court—would know who he was singing about. Staring down at the floor, waiting for the music to start, he released the mental barrier he always kept in place to mute the ever present flow of Spirit that flowed through him, letting just enough of his element trickle through to help him visualize the faces in the crowd blurring. When he looked up and began to sing there was only one person who’s image remained clear—a woman who wasn’t even really there as he sang to her.

_“Wait just a moment before our love will die_  
 _Cause I must know the reason why we say goodbye_  
 _Wait just a moment and tell me why_ _'_  
 _cause I can show you loving that you won't deny…”_  


His voice was low and husky—almost raspy, bringing to mind brushed velvet and whiskey laced with smoke. A hushed murmur of astonishment raced through the bar, momentarily making his mental grasp slip; a surge of Spirit slipped into him, making the vision in his head superimpose over reality in a way that was… disturbing,  to say the least, the faces of the crowd still blurred, but with hints of their features peeking through, making it look like their faces were melting off before his eyes. Clenching his jaw he tried to rein the element in, closing his eyes and focusing on the next verse.

_“Wait and show your loving like it was before_   
_Cause I won’t let that feeling walk out through the door_   
_Yeah wait just a moment and try once more_   
_Cause babe I need to hold you like I did before…”_

Everything he felt when he thought of her was there, laid bare for all to see; the pain and anger he felt over her betrayal, the shattering of his hopes—but underneath it all was _love._ A love so strong and powerful that it was like a razor, slicing deep into his soul and imbedding itself there, overpowering everything else. It was constant and never fading, no matter what she did. His raw, gritty voice painted a picture with the lyrics as clear as anything he could create on canvas with oils and a brush.

_“So if you go away I know that I will follow_   
_Cause there’s a place inside my heart that tells me_   
_Hold out, hold out, hold out…”_

He could picture her so clearly, her dark, intense eyes… the way her lips curled up in a slow, lazy, lopsided grin as she teased him about his bad habits. He could remember the one night they’d spent together as if it were just yesterday how content he’d been despite being left sexually frustrated. That night, for the first time ever, he’d been totally at peace, cradling her sleeping body in his arms. Every kiss… every caress… he’d thought she had finally relegated Belikov to the past and that _he_   was her future.  He’d thought she finally loved him.

He’d never been more wrong in his life.

_“Wait - wait_   
_I never had a chance to love you_   
_Wait - wait_   
_If only our love could show you_   
_Wait - wait_   
_I never wanna be without you_   
_Wait - wait_   
_No I never had a chance to love you_   
_Now I only wanna say I love you_   
_One more time….”_   


As the last note fell from his lips, the crowd went wild, cheering and clapping, calling out for an encore—all except one table of people. It was so far back in the room that he hadn’t noticed their presence—though he was now stunned to realize his eyes had been locked on one person seated there since the moment he’d started singing.

The expression on her face destroyed him—it was a mixture of embarrassment and rage, but there was pain there too—and sorrow, with just a hint of loss. She stood so abruptly her chair fell over backwards, but she didn’t stop to set it upright. Swiping at her cheeks she ducked her head down, hiding her face away behind the glossy, dark curtain of her hair as she hurried toward the door. Too late he remembered Lissa mentioning that she was making her boyfriend and Rose spend the evening together—forcing them to share a night out in attempts to set aside their ongoing squabbling once and for all—and where Ozera went, his Guardian went too. Belikov was staring at the door with a torn expression on his face, wanting to go after Rose and comfort her but unable to leave his charge—who was glaring up at the stage with a look of anger in his icy blue eyes.

Fucking hell. They’d never believe he hadn’t known they were there… or that he hadn’t chosen that stupid fucking song.

Pointedly ignoring the people who were attempting to congratulate him on his performance, he made his way back to the bar, picking up the drink they had waiting for him and downing it in one shot, hoping it would still the faint trembling of his hands before it became too obvious.

“That was great! Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?” Conta clapped him on the back so hard he winced, then shook his head in amazement. You have to do another one—maybe something by Bon Jovi? I always liked them.”

“Think that’s all I’ve got in me for one night.” He glanced at the Moroi out of the corner of his eye, distracted by the vibrant colors pulsing around his body. Too much—he’d pulled too much in, and now it would be next to impossible to damper its effects. Fuck.

“Next up—Christian Ozera.” The announcement echoed across the sound  system, followed a moment later by Christian’s sarcastic voice. “For the record—I didn’t pick this fucking song. Rose did. Too bad she’s not here to laugh about it.”

He could feel Christian’s eyes burning a hole right between his shoulder blades, making him slouch down, resting his elbows on the bar.  The opening notes of the music started, immediately making him groan, his head dropping down to rest against the wooden bar before him “Oh you have _got_ to be fucking kidding me. Seriously? This is un-fucking-believable. I _hate_   this song. ” The _one_  fucking song he _didn’t_   want to hear—the very one he’d had in mind when he’d said no Edison Lighthouse.  He slid his hands up to cover his ears in a futile attempt to drown out Christian’s voice, then he straightened up, calling for the bartender. “Another—and leave the damn bottle. I’m going to need it.”

_“She ain’t got no money_   
_Her clothes are kinda funny_   
_Her hair is kinda wild and free_   
_Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes_   
_And nobody knows like me_

_She talks kinda lazy_   
_And people say she she’s crazy_   
_And her life’s a mystery_   
_Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes_   
_And nobody knows like me…”_

 He couldn’t do it—he had to get out of there.  Grabbing his jacket, he downed the drink the bartender had just set in front of him, then slid off the barstool.  “I’m done. Thanks for the drinks guys.”

“What? No! Come on—we’re just getting started man!” Badica grabbed his arm, trying to force him back down on the stool. “Have another drink at least—for the road.”

He didn’t answer, jerking his arm free—and immediately lost his balance in the progress. Stumbling backwards, he slammed in a wall—only the strange thing was he didn’t remember a wall being there a moment before.

“Lord Ivashkov… May I speak with you?”

The voice made him flinch; unless they’d imported the wall from Russia and it had developed the amazing ability to speak, he’d bumped into the one person he _definitely_ didn’t want to talk to. “Jesus fucking Chr—No. You may not.”

“I’m afraid I must insist. Gentlemen—if you will excuse us?”

A giant hand clasped his elbow in an iron grip, steering him towards the door; to his surprise they didn’t exit—instead Belikov positioned himself in a way so that he could keep one eye on Christian while they had their little chat. “You have a very good voice, though I must question your use of it, Adrian. You don’t need—”

“What I ‘ _don’t need’_   Guardian Belikov, is to have a heart to heart with the man who fucking ruined me. You won. Gloat all you want—but don’t you _ever_   fucking dare assume to tell me what to do.” He tore his arm out of the other man’s grasp, irritated as always by the fact that the dhampir towered six inches above his own height.

“I was going to say you don’t need to continue torturing yourself this way. It may be hard for you to believe, but it hurts me to see you like this—more importantly, it hurts Rose. We never meant—”

“Oh here we go. You never meant to take her away from me? Bullshit. I saw the way you watched her—even when you refused to see her.  Your eyes following her around whenever she came near you. I saw your fucking aura and I should have known then and there that I was screwed—but I trusted Rose. Believed her lies when she told me the two of you were through.” He jammed his hand in his pockets, searching for his cigarettes, needing something to relieve the press of Spirit that was leaking into him, his control wavering because of the heat of his emotions. “ So before you go spouting off empty platitudes to ease your guilty conscious—think about that. _I know what I saw._ Now… you want to try that one more time, from the top? _”_

Belikov leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared thoughtfully at him, his expression clam, despite the things that had been said to him. “I don’t want to argue with you Adrian—and if you don’t wish to hear my explanations or apologies, that’s fine. But I must point out that if you saw all those things and took the time to look at my aura… surely you must have seen Rose’s as well, yes?”

He opened his mouth to argue… but he couldn’t. The truth was he _had_   seen the way her aura lit up whenever the Russian giant was near, though it had been laced with ribbons of sadness and turmoil—probably due to the way the big moron had ignored her. He’d chosen to ignore it, wanting to believe that it was a reaction she couldn’t help, based on her memories of what the two had shared. Lighting his clove, he inhaled deeply, deciding to change his tactics in hopes of seeing the dhampir’s calm mask crumble before his eyes. “You’re right—as always. So tell me, Saint Belikov, what did I do wrong? Maybe I should just follow your sterling example—find a woman even younger than Rose that I can train to be devoted. When she got back from Russia I seem to recall her mentioning you had sisters… one who has a thing for Moroi bad boys.”

The Russian arched a dark brow, frowning. “No.”

“No? You don’t have a sister like that? Pity. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—certainly not the first time Rose has lied to me.”

“No as in you will never have the opportunity to get within a hundred feet of my Sister, Ivashkov. I am sorry for your pain, but if you think I would allow you to turn my baby sister into your plaything in an attempt to strike back at me and Rose—”

Bingo—he’d hit a nerve. “Yes well, seeing as how you can’t leave your charge and I can go wherever the hell I want, maybe I’ll take a little visit to your hometown, as soon as I recall the name of it.” He flashed a charming smile, taking another drag off his smoke. “After all, turnabout is fair play, don’t you think? You stole my girl, so I’ll steal—”

“Dimitri? As much fun as it would be to watch you rearrange Adrian’s face, maybe we should go check on Rose—I just called Lissa and she hasn’t heard from her and she’s not answering her phone.” Christian shot a dark look at him, waving his hand to clear away the stream of smoke that had been blown in his direction.

“Of course. “ The giant’s brow crinkled with worry as he straightened up, nodding his head in Adrian’s direction. “Perhaps we can continue this discussion another time—not the ridiculous parts, of course, but rather the part where I try to apologize.”

“I’ll be holding my breath in anticipation.” Dropping his cigarette to the floor he turned, preceding them out the door. His mind had locked on an image during their chat,—Rose sitting amid the crowd of blurred faces he had seen in his vision during his song, standing ought like a sweet dream amidst a sea of nightmares. The urge to have a brush in his hand, laying out the scenario on a canvas was riding him, making his hand convulsively flex in a way  he recognized far too well. He had to paint it—now… immediately… to immortalize the moment forever while erasing it from his memory at the same time. It would be a dark painting, shades of burgundy and royal purple, with her aura blazing a halo around her body, beckoning him like the welcoming light of a port in a turbulent storm.

He glanced back over at the two men, unaware his eyes had glazed over or that a strange, eerie quality had crept into his voice. “Someday I’m going to do a painting of you Belikov—maybe I’ll title it “The Gardner’ since you cut Rose out of my life.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his mind already mixing colors on his pallet and sketching out the outline of the creation on canvas. He was completely oblivious to the fact he was whistling an off tune rendition on the very song that he claimed to hate… a song that had been echoing faintly in his mind ever since the moment she had broken his heart beyond repair.   

_“She’s really got a magical spell_   
_And it’s working so well_   
_That I can’t get away_

_I’m a lucky fella_   
_And I’ve just got to tell her_   
_That I love her endlessly_   
_Because love grows where my Rosemary goes_   
_And nobody knows like me….”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N I absolutely hate writing song fics—just for the record—so mine usually aren't all that great. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Unproofed || Unedited
> 
> Disclaimer for Lyrics used:
> 
> Lyrics to the song 'Wait' by White Lion: Writer(s): Vito Bratta Copyright: Vavoom Music Inc.  
> Lyrics to the song Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) by Edison Lighthouse: Writer(s): Tony Macaulay and Barry Mason
> 
> This fic originally posted on my Rose Hathaway tumblr account (guardianrosemhathaway) as well as on my fanfiction.net account on May 26, 2014
> 
> Story and graphic © samwysesr || guardianrosemthathaway.tumblr.com


End file.
